


5 times Jughead tries everything to outrun his destiny and 1 time he runs out of options

by catthecoder



Series: foolish hearts [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, FBI Agent Betty Cooper, Forbidden Love, Opposites Attract, Pre-Relationship, Secrets, Slow Burn, thief Jughead Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 05:28:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catthecoder/pseuds/catthecoder
Summary: Growing up in a trailer park with both of his parents always putting their stupid gang first, never their lonely and starved kid, it is understandable that Jughead grew to resent everything those leather jackets with snake emblems stood for. But lately, he has been finding plenty more reasons to add onto that pile full of hatred, each one of them making his stomach recoil harder and dreams of a peaceful future seem more distant. Is he too naïve for wanting to follow his foolish heart and build his own destiny?





	5 times Jughead tries everything to outrun his destiny and 1 time he runs out of options

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i'm sorry for taking so long, things kept getting in way, but i've wanted to get this part done and up in october and here i am, with two days to spare, yayy!
> 
> as always, the part is un-betad, so i deeply apologise for any mistakes/typos that might have slipped my attention (i was editing it during the exam week, my brain was fried half of the time and sleep deprived the other).
> 
> but anyways, happy reading! 💕

** _1_ **

The aftermath of a sharp flash going off straight into Jughead’s face as he accepted his diploma on a stage is still lingering in front of his eyes in a form of residual semi-transparent spots even as he settles onto the worn-out cushion of Whyte Wyrm’s leather booth couple of hours later. He places three cold pints of beer in in front of his friends, who are still lost in their conversation almost as deeply as they were when Jughead left to go get their orders and he is pretty sure they haven’t even noticed his absence.

He doesn’t mind though; certainly not tonight. 

No, tonight, he’s filled with nothing but bliss and peace, with content and excitement. If somebody told him nine years ago, when his mother dropped him off at an art school instead of their crappy trailer for the first time, how important to his life the Royal Art College of New York would end up being, he’d laugh them off. He was a ten year old kid back then, a small brat who saw no point in sitting through long and tedious hours of art history classes or experimenting with different types of paints and brushes, ones that used to look the exact same to his then untrained eye.

But then, he met Sweet Pea, a boy who shared almost all of his opinions about how pointless everything about their classes was, but having completely different reasons for that than Jughead - because he knew all of it already. Sweet Pea quickly made every teacher and student hate him with his constant smartass attitude and never-ending stream of corrections and additional information. But not Jughead; Jughead only grew more and more intrigued, finding his interest in the boy raising rapidly every time Pea chose to share a new fact with the entire class or a barely audible snarky remark fell from his lips, one that always forced Jughead to drop his head in an attempt to hide the laughter that bubbled up in his throat. 

And turns out, befriending Pea was the best decision he could have made, as it was thanks to him that he found the strength to get through the art school, to study and paint until he reached his full potential and then push himself further, work harder until he got not only better, but the best. Sweet Pea taught him to never settle for a mediocre job when there was more you could do and Jughead believes that to be the sole reason why him, a trailer park kid from a family of gangsters, graduated on the top of their class, with all teachers praising him left and right.

They met Fangs a couple of months later; or better said, Fangs met them. By that time, the two of them were long established as one of the smartest kids in the class and even though most of the high-class socialites that attended the art school with them would never do even as little as bat an eyelid in their direction, probably because they would never admit that trailer park kids could possibly be better than them, Fangs didn’t think twice before asking them for a help. There was a desperation in his voice, his entire posture shaken and humble as he admitted to them that both of his parents were artists and so were his three older sisters and here he was, unable to tell the difference between azure and cobalt blue. 

And so, after long hours of begging and pleading, both Sweet Pea and Jughead agreed to help him study and carry him through the hardships and challenges, that the art school had in store for them. It wasn’t easy; even now, Jughead still isn’t quite sure how Fangs made it all the way to the end; but here they were, the three of them smashed together in a tiny booth that smelled of stale beer and burnt tobacco, with wide grins plastered on their faces and laughter fresh on their lips, celebrating the end of the beautiful times and memories they have shared thanks to the art school.

Even now, with the graduation ceremony still fresh in his mind, Jughead knows that he’ll never forget a single memory of those years and that he’ll forever cherish all those moments, beyond thankful for the friendships he had formed, the knowledge he had the opportunity to obtain and the passion he had discovered between the gentle brushstrokes and the smell of fresh paint.

“To successfully graduating,” Sweet Pea says as he raises his glass, a splash of beer spilling through the edge of the glass, the liquid quickly covering his fingers that curled around the glass. But he doesn’t seem to care, not with the emotions still running high and grin on his face as wide as ever.

Endings can be hard, but then, they can also be pretty awesome. “To the start of something new,” Jughead says with a small smile as he picks up a glass himself. He has never been a much of a drinker; but what damage can one celebratory pint do?

“To making it through,” Fangs says, joining the two of them. He brings his glass up and against the pair that is already waiting for him, the loud click drowned out by the noisiness of the bar.

However neither of them minds as they contently bring the cold beers to their mouths, taking long swigs of the golden liquid. It doesn’t burn Jughead’s throat like he expected it to, but it still leaves an unpleasant bitter taste behind, one that reminds him of regrets and bad decisions. But he doesn’t stop to ponder about it, not when Fangs is laughing obnoxiously at whatever Pea has just said and Pea rolls his eyes visibly at their friend’s antics.

The night passes in a blur and one beer turns into three and a few rounds of shots, and before Jughead has a chance to realise what’s happening, he’s pretty sure neither of them can think straight anymore (or walk straight, for that matter).

That’s probably the only plausible explanation of what follows.

When they picked the location for their celebratory drinks, they didn’t just stumble upon Whyte Wyrm by an accident. Even though New York is a huge city, there aren’t that many bars which will serve alcohol to underaged kids, so unless they wanted to whip out their although pretty persuasive fake IDs, there would still be a chance of getting cut off after they had a bit too much. They wanted to go somewhere they would get served without limits and questions, where they could easily forget about all problems and just celebrate the hell out of the night.

And what place is better for that than a bar owned by his parents’ gang?

Jughead has to admit, his relationship with his parents is anything but healthy or loving; hell, it’s anything but a relationship. 

Where normal kids have memories of their parents reading them a nighttime story before laying them down to sleep, Jughead’s are full of hearing strategies on how to move drugs or attack a rivaling gang through the trailer’s thin walls. Where normal kids played with baby toys and learnt how to read with colorful books, Jughead built mazes out of empty beer bottles and read contents of envelopes with words ‘ _ the last notice _ ’ or ‘ _ urgent _ ’ stamped on them in huge red letters. 

But then, he supposes that there’s nothing like a perfect family and his parents care for him, they just have a very weird and twisted way of showing that.

It took him a long time to figure it out, but there was a reason why his mother made sure he attended the art school three times a week (even if it was just to hide all of the drugs and weapons that passed through their tiny trailer) or why his father taught him how to be brave and outspoken, how to deal with people both verbally and physically (even if it was just to groom him to take over his place one day).

Jughead supposes that it was probably the biggest compliment and show of appreciation he would ever receive from him - after all, the Serpents were an enormous and powerful gang, one that held power over the majority of New York, one that was responsible for almost the entire drug and gun trade in the city. Leading it would be a privilege, an honour.

But at the end of the day, it has never been what Jughead wanted.

No, he wants to paint. He wants to create new worlds and stories on canvases instead of destroying the ones of real people. He wants his fingers to be stained by paint and not by blood, he wants his consciousness to be clean and his head light from the lack of the heavy crown.

And for somebody like his father, who has taken over his father’s legacy without a single moment of hesitation, an idea like that is simply unfathomable. And for somebody like his mother, who chose to follow her husband into that kind of life without as much of an argument, an idea like that is just heartbreaking.

So, yeah, his relationship with his parents is very far from ideal.

But since life never tried to make things easy on Jughead, things are about to get a lot worse and rather quickly.

It’s a little past midnight when the three of them leave the bar and it is around the same time that more people start flooding it. 

Jughead has been a part of the dark side of the world for far too long to not realise who those people are; matching tattoos would be the first give-away, the leather jackets with their gang names and logos the second. But it’s not only gangs that gather in the bar that night, no. Men with serious faces and smart suits, ones that would normally never be caught dead in a shit-hole like Whyte Wyrm. 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out their intentions, especially not once you’re looking at the whole situation with hindsight.

But that night, the three intoxicated minds don’t think twice about any of that, running too high on both happiness and alcohol.

They barely make it a block down from the Whyte Wyrm before a police car pulls up by them.

A window rolls down, revealing an officer with a sly smile. “Gentleman, you seem rather cheery,” he offers as a greeting.

Sweet Pea laughs as he nods. “We’re celebrating.”

The policeman takes a proper long look at them, one that surely reveals to him that they are way under-aged to be in a state like this. But he doesn’t comment on it, instead just hums lightly. “Leaving a bit early, aren’t you?” 

“It started get too crowded, you know how those things get probably better than us,” Sweet Pea answers with a nonchalant shrug.

“That I know,” the officer agrees. “And where were you celebrating, if I may ask?”

A warning flag should have raised in Jughead’s brain, a fucking alarm should have gone off, but it didn’t.

“Just over there,” Jughead shrugs, tilting his head to the side so his chin points in the general direction of Whyte Wyrm.

The officer licks his lips. “Then I won’t be keeping you for any longer, gentlemen. Enjoy your night.” 

He rolls his window up and drives off and just like that, Jughead throws the entire encounter out of his head, too distracted by the headstand Fangs is currently attempting to spare another thought on what has just happened.

_ Oh, how different his life could have turned out if he just stopped there for a second a realised what he has just done. _

But he doesn’t stop then and he doesn’t for another few days.

Not until there’s a loud knock at his door on his door at 2am a few days later and if growing up with parents as leaders of a notorious gang has taught him anything, it was that nothing good ever came from a visit so late. 

There’s a Pea’s baseball bat behind their couch and Jughead reaches for it on his way to open the door; his palm sweaty around the wooden handle, making it slippery between his fingers.

He leaves the chain secured in the door as he unlocks the two remaining locks and opens the door just ever so slightly. 

A visit at 2am never brings anything good and that’s especially true if it brings his parents around.

“We need to talk,” his mother says instead of greeting and there’s something about her tone that tells Jughead that this isn’t a catch-up meeting or a long overdue family reunion. No, there’s something sinister about the way those words leave her mother’s mouth, something that terrifies Jughead to a bone.

Nevertheless, he nods and closes the door to remove the chain from its lock. He then places the bat on top of a small cabinet next to the door and slips out from the apartment into the empty hall, not quite comfortable with letting his parents inside while his two friends are sleeping in their bedroom, blissfully unaware of the disturbance.

There’s just a single lightbulb illuminating the corridor and with its flickering light, the angry expressions on his parents’ faces seem only that more daunting. A deep regret suddenly settles in Jughead’s stomach - he should have never opened that door. 

His father doesn’t say anything as he pulls out a stark white envelope from his leather jacket and pushes it into Jughead’s chest, forcing him to accept it.

He reluctantly does, flipping it in his hands a few times before carefully tearing the top of it and peaking inside. It’s empty, except for a single small sheet of paper. 

There’s just a number five written on it, followed by so many zeroes that Jughead loses track every time he attempts to count them. So he leaves it alone and instead looks at his parents confused. “What’s this?”

“That’s how much you have cost us this Friday,” his mother spits out, the words sharp and cutting.

But Jughead’s brows only furrow, confused. They’ve only had like twelve beers, some shots and two portions of chips, and it’s not like they left without paying, so what on Earth…?

“Don’t act dumb boy, Tall Boy saw you and your friends talking to that cop,” his father says as he notices Jughead’s confusion.

Jughead’s frown deepens before the memory of the short conversation comes back to him. “Wait, what? We barely spoke!” he shakes his head and raises his hands in front of himself in a defensive way.

“Well, you told him enough for him to call for a backup and storm the place,” Gladys says.

Jughead’s breath gets stuck in his throat. “What-” 

His father doesn’t let him finish. “Our partners are pissed and they demand to be paid the money they’ve lost because of you.”

“It’s not my fault!” Jughead tries to defend himself, his voice trembling. This couldn’t be right, there’s no way this was really happening...

“They don’t care,” his mother shakes her head. “But we do.” Jughead’s heart almost skips a beat at the almost affectionate tone of her mother, at the tiny reassuring smile that appears on her lips.

“We can help you pay them back,” his father offers slowly. He reaches for the paper with the sum on it, removing it from Jughead’s grasp. The action is full of promises of a brighter and easier future and it makes Jughead pause.

Because nothing is ever that simple with his parents, there are always some hidden  _ buts _ and terms and conditions written by tiny letters at the bottom of the agreement. “What’s the catch?” he asks.

“There’s no catch,” Gladys shakes her head.

But Jughead’s eyebrow just shoots up. He knows when he’s being lied to.

“We pay off your debt,” FP offers. “And in return, you take your rightful spot in the Serpents.”

_ There it is. _

Jughead doesn’t have to think about his answer, he doesn’t need to take a deep breath to calm his racing heart or to stop his stomach from curling up with anxiety at the prospect of joining Serpents, because neither of those things are happening - ever. So instead, he simply reaches out and snatches the paper from back from his father’s hand. “I will figure something out and I certainly don’t need your help to do that.”

He hears his mother gasp in shock and a small  _ boy _ escape his father’s lips, but he doesn’t care. He simply turns on his heel and slips back into his apartment, leaving without a hint of a goodbye.

There are only handful of things he is completely sure of in his life and the fact that under no circumstances will he ever work for his parents or join Serpents is on top of that list. 

He will figure something out without selling his soul to the devil.

It’s not like he really has any other option now.

  
  


** _2_ **

The silence that fills their living room is so grave, it makes Jughead want to run out of door or jump out of window or just simply do something,  _ anything _ , to escape the situation. 

He’s been staring at the long number written on the paper scrap for two days already; two days of his thoughts eating him up, of fear constantly creeping up on him, of dread consuming his entire body. Jughead knows all too well what types of people his parents work with - and so he knows he doesn’t want to mess with them. He needs to get the money one way or another and he has to figure it out soon.

Anything he can do to avoid another confrontation by his parents, or worse, by people he now owes more money to than he had probably seen in his entire life.

So, he comes clean to his best friends - maybe they will be able to offer a solution that he so desperately craves. However, if the terrified expressions on their faces are anything to go by, they aren’t handling the situation much better than he is.

“What are we going to do?” Fangs asks. There’s a slight tremble to his voice and it only makes Jughead hate himself a bit more.

He reaches down to snap the paper from his friend’s hands and stuff it into his pocket. “We aren’t going to do anything. I am.”

“We’re not leaving you alone in this, Jones,” Pea shakes his head, his tone stern and not leaving any space for arguments.

But Jughead tries anyways. “You have to. I was born into this world, it was just a question of time when something would come around and drag me down. But you weren’t and I’m not going to compromise you.”

Sweet Pea scoffs at his words. “That’s bullshit.”

“Pea, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jughead argues. 

Owing money to powerful and dangerous people, getting involved with gangs and violence never ends well and Jughead would do anything to protect his friends from getting dragged down that dark road. He saw too many lives get destroyed just simply because they were associated with a gang member and he isn’t interested in Sweet Pea or Fangs being the next subjects in line. Even though he technically isn’t joining his parents, he can’t overlook the fact that by paying off that debt, he is essentially funding their violent delights.

“All the more reason to stand with you,” Fangs says, patting Jughead on his shoulder. “We will figure something out, don’t you worry. We can all pick up more shifts, maybe get second jobs or something and work our asses off until that number becomes a zero.”

Jughead wants to laugh; he loves Fangs dearly, but sometimes, the guy needs to put down his rose-tinted glasses and look at the facts as they are - there’s no way that the minimum-wage jobs they have, ones that barely cover the rent of the tiny two-bedroom apartment they share and their other expenses, would ever be enough to pay off that sum. They can never make enough money, not even if they had dozen of lifetimes (and Jughead knows; he did the math).

“Look, I appreciate your offer to help, but this is my problem and I’m going to figure out a way to deal with it. You two just continue living your lives and following your dreams without having to constantly look over your shoulder and worry about angering the wrong people,” Jughead says with a heavy exhale. 

“If I remember correctly, all three of us talked to that cop, so stop talking shit about how it’s your fault and responsibility and let us help,” Sweet Pea snaps angrily and Jughead almost doesn’t want to argue with him.

_ Almost _ . 

He opens his mouth to tell his friend to shove it somewhere, that he’s not letting him anywhere near his mess and problems, but Fangs is quicker to speak. “We aren’t abandoning you, Jug, no matter what you try. So stop being stupid and accept our help.”

“I can’t,” Jughead shakes his head. 

His eyes jump between his two best friends - Sweet Pea leaning against the door into his room, staring at Jughead with furrowed brows and angry scowl, but yet there are hints of kindness and love in his eyes, no matter how much he tries to hide them behind his bad boy demeanor; and Fangs, curled in the corner of a sofa, still in his pajamas and with a fluffy blanket thrown across his lap, looking every bit embodiment of innocence and pureness. How could he do anything that would put the two of them into risk? How could he live with himself is something were to happen to them, if they got caught up with the wrong people because of him?

“So what, are we supposed to just pretend nothing is wrong and keep going with our lives while you throw away all of your dreams and hopes? While you sign your soul off to your parents, the  _ devils _ themselves?” Pea asks with a raised brow. 

Jughead knows his friend is poking him on purpose, he’s challenging him to an argument, because he knows he’s definitely going to come out of it victorious. And sadly, Jughead knows it as well, which prompts him to rub his face and release an exasperated sigh before finally giving in. “Fine, you win.”

Sweet Pea beams at him, a reaction that certainly isn’t appropriate for the grave situation they have found themselves in, but Jughead doesn’t comment on it, not finding the strength to do so anymore. His head still spins as he remembers the long number, the debt he owes to his parents and whoever their  _ business partners _ are, his stomach still clutches at the thought of the danger that all of those people represent.

All his life, he tried to to everything in his power to stay out of the Serpents, to stay away from the violent and nasty lifestyle his family had led for decades. He couldn’t care less about upholding his family legacy, he couldn’t care less about taking over the family business.

All he has ever dreamt about was making a name for himself, of building something he could look back on with pride and joy. Of leaving his own legacy behind, one that would not be stained by blood and drugs. One that he could proudly sign his name underneath, one that his parents wouldn’t be able to get their hands on and ruin.

He supposes that dreams like those are dead now, crushed under the heaviness of the debt he owes for something stupid and the fear of what might happen to him, to his friends, if he would decide to decline, to not pay, to say no.

A pair of arms brings him into an embrace, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something. You’re not alone in this,” Fangs whispers against his shoulder.

And even though Jughead kind of hates the fact that he really isn’t alone in it, he’s also grateful. So he allows Fangs to hug him for a little bit longer and with that hug, he also allows himself to hold onto a sliver of hope that maybe, they really will figure something out.

But sadly, that sliver of hope dies out within the next couple of days, filled with hours of unsuccessful brainstorming and plans that got them nowhere. Turns out, there aren’t a lot of ways how to come to a lot of money rather quickly, which really makes sense, no matter how much Jughead would like for it not to. 

There’s some kind of a detective movie playing on their TV, but neither of them is really paying attention to it, the movie only serving as a background noise for their various activities and to keep their thoughts at least partially at a bay.

Jughead is playing around on a canvas, trying to break through the artistic block that has settled on him with the arrival of his parents, but no matter how many times he turns the brush around between his fingers, it still feels unnatural in his hand, his fingers aching with stiffness. Even the colours don’t seem quite as bright as they should be, which he supposes can be seen a metaphor for the turn his life took. Or maybe it’s just that the lightbulb of their ceiling light needs to be changed, but it’s not like they can spare the few dollars on it.

Sweet Pea is in the kitchen, cooking a dinner, which makes Jughead’s stomach rumble loudly. He would kill for a good burger or that chinese take-out they used to get before their monday classes in the art school - but again, they can’t really throw that kind of money around anymore, needing to consider carefully how they spend every single penny. It’s going to be pasta for dinner for a foreseeable future, he supposes. 

And Fangs, Fangs is sprawled across the couch, nose deep in newspaper’s ads section, probably skimming through the job openings even though all of them are already working full-time jobs. Or, at least that’s what he was doing the last time Jughead checked - because as his eyes trail to the couch now, his friend is no longer laying on it stomach down. No, he’s sitting now, straight as a ruler, and his eyes are jumping between Jughead and the TV vigorously.

Jughead raises his eyebrow at his friend and places the brush down, wiping the paint from his hands to his jeans in the process. “Something on your mind?” he asks as his eyes meet Fangs’.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we hadn’t thought of this sooner,” Fangs says as a wide smile slowly breaks out on his lips.

“Thought of what?” Sweet Pea asks as he enters the living room. He’s somehow carrying three bowls of pasta in his hands and he places them on the coffee table before dropping on the couch next to Fangs.

“I know how to get the money,” Fangs says proudly.

“You do?” Jughead asks as he reaches for the bowl of pasta. He sends Sweet Pea a thankful look, one that his friend answers with an acknowledging hum through a mouth-full of pasta.

“We’ll just steal it.”

Sweet Pea chokes on the pasta and Jughead almost drops his fork. “We’ll just what?” he asks once Pea’s coughing stops.

But Pea was never one to mince the words and he proves that with his reaction. “Are you fucking nuts?”

“Wait, just hear me out,” Fangs says defensively. “I’m not proposing we rob a bank or anything like that, no, that would be too crazy and risky. But watching this -” he waves over to the TV, “- gave me an idea.”

“What idea? How to get caught and send into a jail?” Pea asks, which earns him an angry glare from Fangs.

“No,” he frowns. “I hadn’t watched the entire thing, but from what I have seen, there was this wealthy businessman and somebody broke into his home and stole some valuable painting or whatever from his art collection and-”

“-You want us to steal a painting?” Pea asks, his voice laced with disbelief. “You know, they might not notice missing money, but they would definitely notice if a fucking painting disappears from their wall.”

Fangs shakes his head. “No, they won’t-”

It’s then that Jughead realises what his friend is trying to say. “No, they won’t, because we’d leave a forgery,” he breathes out, surprised at the sound of his own voice. It doesn’t sound freaked out or dismissive as Sweet Pea’s, no, instead, it’s calm and almost… Accepting.

“Is that too much of a crazy idea?” Fangs asks with a hopeful tilt to his voice.

Jughead opens his mouth to say  _ yes _ , because that’s what he’s supposed to answer, that’s the moral and right answer, but no words leave his mouth. He doesn’t want to entertain this insane idea, he doesn’t want to think about the possibility of getting himself tangled up in a criminal life after he has spent so long trying to escape it. But something in him is stopping him from shutting it down, so instead of answering he just shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth, hoping that the food burning in his mouth would somehow give him back his ability to think rationally.

“Unbelievable,” Sweet Pea shakes his head, his eyes slowly moving away from Jughead (clearly disappointed and enraged at his lack of support) to Fangs. “Yes, it is too crazy of an idea. God, we can’t just go and steal shit. It’s illegal.” He continues shaking his head as he gets up, the bowl of pasta abandoned on the couch between him and Fangs. “I seriously can’t deal with this. I’m going to bed, I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

He mutters something more under his breath as he leaves for his bedroom, but the words get drowned out by the loud sound of a commercial coming on the TV. It floods the room in colours, the bright yellows followed by deep blues, all while upfunk jingle pours from the sound system. 

It all stands out in stark contrast to the heavy tension that hangs in the air as an aftermath of Pea’s exit and Fangs can probably sense that as well, as he reaches for the remote control and shuts the TV off. The screen turns black and the room silent and it stays that way until both of them finish their food and head to their respective rooms with a small nod as a goodbye.

As Jughead lies in his bed and stares into a ceiling, he lets his mind wonder about Fangs’ idea, about how stupid and unrealistic it was. About how dangerous and irresponsible it would be to follow through with it. About how the adrenaline in his body would be the highest it has ever been and about how much trouble they could get into. And about the money - oh, he thinks about all the money they could make by selling the art-pieces on black market, how fast they could make his debt go away.

He isn’t sure how long he spends daydreaming about all of the possibilities that going down that road would bring along, how many opportunities it would make available to them, before his door creaks open and backlit by the faint light coming in through the living room’s window, a tall figure appears on his doorstep.

“Why are you awake?” Jughead whispers lowly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Pea shrugs as he closes the door behind himself. Jughead sits up on his bed and pats the spot beside him, inviting his friend to sit down. 

He doesn’t have to ask twice as the mattress dips under Pea’s weight almost immediately.

“What kept you up?” Jughead asks, even though he knows what the answer is going to be. Even in the dark room, he can see the way Pea’s shoulders are dropped, the frown on his lips - he feels guilty.

“You think we should do it?” Sweet Pea asks carefully.

Jughead sighs heavily. “I think it’s a means to an end,” he admits. “But if you’re not on board, I’m not going to drag you into it.”

Sweet Pea scrutinises him carefully, his piercing gaze scanning his entire face as if it held the answers to all of the universe’s questions. And Jughead lets him - he knows his friend needs to make this decision on his own. Jughead has already messed up his life enough, he doesn’t want to make it any worse.

“If you’re doing it, there’s no way I’m letting you do it alone,” Pea says then, his words barely audible, even in the dead silence of the room.

“Sweets, please, don’t do it just because of me,” Jughead shakes his head. He doesn’t want to bear the burden of being the downfall of his best friend, he doesn’t want to be the reason why he can’t have a normal life or has to give up his dreams.

“I’m not,” Pea says slowly. “I’m also doing it because of Fangs.”

“C’mon, Pea…”

“Oh, stop it, Jug. I have thought about it a lot and I know you did too. This is our only option and you know it,” Sweet Pea says defensively. “Now, get some sleep. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow.” He gets up from the bed and head to the door, quickly opening it and slipping away.

But he stops just before closing it fully, peeking his head into Jughead’s room for a few more seconds. “I still think it’s a stupid idea… But I’m also starting to think it might be a brilliant one.”

Something that feels vaguely like a rock falls of Jughead’s heart. “It’s going to be alright, I promise you,” Jughead whispers.

Sweet Pea just nods and leaves, closing the door gently behind himself.

And the sleep comes a bit easier to Jughead after that. 

  
  


** _3_ **

All in all, Jughead has to admit, Belgium has a certain charm to it and Brussels especially - the capital is nothing like New York. It is still busy, but the energy is completely different from the one of the city he grew up in. Somehow, the air feels lighter and the sun seems so shine a bit brighter. And there also isn’t that tension that constantly pressed down on his heart anymore, making every beat of it a bit easier. 

He looks out of the window of the nice suburban house that Fangs has somehow managed to find, with an owner so old that Jughead isn’t quite sure how he’s still alive - but he is and his English was barely enough for them to reach an agreement, so they really don’t have to worry about the man asking too many questions about what the four of them were going to be doing in Brussels for that long. He’s pretty sure that even the most enthusiastic tourists would not survive in that city longer than a couple of days and they were planning on hanging around for a month.

After all, they had a lot of preparing to do.

It still doesn’t feel quite real and Jughead supposes it won’t for a bit longer. But they are really doing it - they flew out of New York to Belgium’s capital a couple of days ago and ever since then, they’ve been working restlessly, setting things up for the heist.

One wouldn’t think of Brussels as the city for an art lover, but apparently, there’s plenty of richer-than-the-world businessmen around here and every single one of them loves to gloat about the beautiful art they own in their overpriced mansions. In fact, they love to gloat about it so much, that it took Toni under half an hour to find a wealthy man like that with a rather expensive Monet on his wall, who, as the luck would have it, is throwing a huge party right now and after just a few more clicks, there were two invitations being printed out and sent their way.

Jughead is glad that Sweet Pea forbid him from going and instead volunteered himself and Toni, because, he surely would have hated every single moment of it - being surrounded by all those posh multi-millionaires who believe that they are the most important people ever is as far as one could get from Jughead’s comfort zone. And no matter how good his eye for a detail is, it would be too much of a risk for him to go to the place he was about to rob in a few weeks time beforehand - he has to do everything he can to stay as far away as possible.

At least, that gives him time to paint. 

But even though painting has always been his means of escape, his way of lifting the tension off and giving himself a space to breathe, for some reason, it is not working now. 

Jughead can feel the tension all around the house, lingering in the air, filling up the silences that follow unanswered questions. All of them are on an edge, fully realising that what they’re about to do will push them over a point of no return, that they’re signing their lives away. That once the heist would be through, there would be no way back, that starting again, with a clean slate would be nearly impossible.

And that is if they don’t get caught.

Jughead shakes his head, not even wanting to consider that possibility. That somebody would tip the police off about four kids staying in a suburban house, barely leaving it and if they do, always in odd hours and wearing layers of clothing even in the unbearable summer heat. Or that something would go wrong while he is inside the mansion, that there would be an alarm Pea and Toni missed or a security lock he wouldn’t be able to make his way through. The possibilities are endless and Jughead’s head hurts just from considering them, but he slowly starts going crazy if he doesn’t.

Because, no matter how many hours they spent preparing, no matter how perfect Jughead’s forgery is going to be, no matter how many times they will go through the plan, making sure that he not only knows it from both front and behind, but also from left and right, there are always so many things that can go wrong.

Jughead slowly puts the brush down and rubs his hands across his face, hoping that the action would erase the dark thoughts that have started creeping up on him. But it doesn’t and to his dismay, it does the opposite - the fear just creeps deeper, the insecurities latch onto him stronger.

Maybe all of this was a mistake, maybe he should have just agreed to his parents’ offer to help him, maybe he should have let them pay off his debt and simply accept his  _ rightful _ place among the Serpents. He would make his father proud, carrying on his legacy like he was always meant to. He would make his mother smile and her entire face soften, in a way he remembers from his childhood, in a way he hasn’t seen in such a long time.

Maybe that would have solved all of his problems. Maybe, and much more importantly, it would have kept his friends safe. 

Sweet Pea could go to that law school he always dreamt about, fulfill his dream of becoming a lawyer and helping people. People like the two of them, trailer kids from poor families who rarely could afford a warm dinner and a legal help is something they never even dared to dream of - people like the two of them, who got caught up in a shit they were vastly unprepared for.

_ One day _ , Jughead thinks,  _ he’s going to pay for his friend to go to university and get his dream degree _ . Pea has already wasted way too much time with taking care of Jughead, making sure that his stupid decisions didn’t get him into trouble and putting his own dreams on a hold for that time, be it during their time together in the art school or even now, following him down the dark rabbit hole of the criminal life. He doesn’t deserve that, he deserves to be free, to have a chance to live his life proudly and not only just as a criminal.

Quite frankly, Jughead wasn’t sure what to expect when he reached out to Toni to invite her to come along with them on this journey, only doing it on Sweet Pea’s insistence that they needed somebody who was good with computers and who they could trust implicitly. Jughead’s thoughts immediately slipped to his high school best friend, one that spent more time staring into the computer screen than not. 

So, after a lot of contemplation he called Toni and to the surprise of all of them, it turned out to be the best thing he could have done. Because apparently, after their ways parted, Toni struggled for a while to find her true calling, to find what excited her the most about computers and coding, before stumbling into the world of hacking. She had worked for a handful of companies to test out the security of their systems, but she grew a bit tired of it rather quickly and so once she heard about Jughead’s proposition, it didn’t take her long to make up her mind.

But still, even with that excitement that Jughead could see sparkling in her eyes every time she found her way through a secure system, there was still guilt tugging at his heart; for calling her, for bringing her to this mess, for dragging her down with them.

And Fangs, Fangs could finally figure out what he wanted from life, if only Jughead hadn’t dragged him into this mess. He often thinks about his friend when he can’t sleep in night because his anxiety keeps him up, all of the wheels in his head rolling restlessly. He wonders, what does Fangs dream about? Because Sweet Pea and him, the two of them had always had clear goals. Sweet Pea dreamt of diving deeper into studies, about understanding law and all of the bureaucracy that goes along with it, while Jughead wanted to just throw all of those things behind his head and close himself off in a studio where he would be surrounded by nothing but paint and empty canvases, ones that would be waiting for his emotions to colour them alive.

But Fangs has never talked about the future he imagined for himself, about what he dreamt about when nobody was around. About whether five years from now he saw himself in building a family or a business, whether he saw himself ducking his head during one of New York’s heavy downpours or basking in warm sun somewhere in Caribbean. And a part of Jughead’s heart aches for him; because it was him that has gotten his friend mixed up in all of this mess, it was him that took his innocence and option to decide away.

He hates himself for it - for all of it. For dragging his friends down with him, from ruining their plans and hopes.

He runs his fingers across the canvas, the still wet paint turning his fingertips blue. 

A light chuckle falls from his lips - talk about feeling blue, quite literally.

His heart hurts for his friends and it probably will for a long time to come.

But then, he can’t help but feel warmth spread through him every time he sees the supporting looks on their faces, he can’t help but feel a bit better about this entire mess when they pat him gently on his shoulder and tell him that they are here for him.

It is times like those he thinks - no, he knows for sure - that the decision to fight for his freedom was the right one; that the decision to not follow in his father’s footsteps would eventually pan out.

And yes, it would be a slow and dangerous process, but one day, his debt would be paid off and all four of them would be free to follow their dreams once again, to start living the lives they had put on a pause for now.

  
  


** _4_ **

Jughead hasn’t even realised how much he has missed New York until the third night back, when he finally beats the jetlag and the brand new bed lulls him to sleep instead of just lying awake for hours, contemplating every stupid decision he has ever made. He leaves his window open and drifts off while listening to the faint sounds of traffic and rain outside, the noises of New York so much louder than they were back in any of the cities in Europe. He doesn’t mind though; no, instead, it makes his heart swell with content and peace. He has missed his home.

He has a new apartment now, no longer sharing a small two-bedroom one with Pea and Fangs above a badly smelling Chinese place, but a semi-decent loft in a better part of the city, with a stunning balcony view. A couple of years ago, he wouldn’t even have dreamt about a place like this. But things change and although some for worse, some definitely for the better.

Though he has to admit, he misses having his friends around deeply. After living with both Pea and Fangs for years and then with Toni joining them for their  _ European adventures _ , he can’t really recall a time where he wasn’t constantly around people. He got so used to sharing his space with his friends that he has forgotten how calming and peaceful solitude could be. But with his debt paid off, now all of of them are back in New York, ready to resume their lives, to pick up where they left off. They don’t need to be constantly around each other and although a part of Jughead is definitely going to miss their presence, the easy mornings full of laughter over breakfast and the late nights spent binge-watching sitcoms until all of them fell asleep on the couches, another part of him can’t wait to build a new life for himself, to start again.

It is a weird feeling - for a long time, he has never quite allowed himself to dream about this future being possible, about a future where he no longer would be weighted down by the crushing debt he owed for a stupid thing he did as a kid; where the shadow of his parents would no longer fall on him, trying to grasp him and drag down into the darkness with them.

Breathing comes a bit easier to him now, his chest doesn’t feel like it is going to collapse into itself every time he exhales and his heart doesn’t want to tear and run away from him. No, he’s home now and he’s free.

There’s lightness to his thoughts and Jughead never wants it to disappear.

But the universe has never been that kind to him - he isn’t sure if it is because of the sins his parents have commited or if he simply had done something horrible when he was young and now he has to be punished for it - but apparently, Jughead Jones is predestined for a life of misery and broken dreams.

Because, on the third night back in New York, in his brand new apartment, a loud sequence of knocks on his front door just a few minutes after 3am wakes him up.

The sound is sharp and it carries through the silence of the apartment effortlessly, easily overpowering the sounds of outside that pour in through the open window. The hairs on the back of Jughead’s neck stand straight and a wave of cold sweat washes over him as it reaches his ears. 

He contemplates staying in the bed and ignoring the person on the other side; he contemplates just shouting  _ fuck off _ and pushing a pillow onto his head to drown out their next attempt at knocking; but he does neither.

His legs fall down from the bed and feet quickly slip into his slippers. He slowly shuffles out of his bedroom and as he is passing through the living room, he curses in his mind for not getting himself a baseball bat like Pea used to own back in their first apartment. With a weapon like that, answering doors in the middle of night went a lot easier.

Jughead isn’t even halfway through the living room when there’s another knock on the door, this one sounding exponentially more urgent and angry.

It makes him stop in his tracks for a second, before approaching the door with much more care.  _ God, he would kill for that baseball bat right now. _

Carefully, he peeks through the peeping hole.

A man on the other side is dressed in a suit, one that looks too crisp, too polished, too expensive, for it to be an appropriate attire for a visit in the middle of night. Jughead scans the man again, his eyes lingering at the bulk on his side and it doesn’t take long before every part of him starts hoping for it to be just a stupid play of light and not a real gun.

Nevertheless of the answer, he backs up from the door, as quickly and silently as possible. He doesn’t dare to take his eyes off though, just lets his legs carry him as far away as possible.

He is already passing through the dining room, quite far from the door and the man behind it, when another loud knock cuts through the silence. Jughead jumps, his hip hitting the corner of a table, moving the piece of furniture with a loud scrap.

He holds his breath in and just prays that the walls are thick enough and that the man behind his door hasn’t heard anything.

But his prayers go unanswered, because before he has a chance to realise what is happening, another loud sound follows. And much to his horror, the sound is of iron hinges being broken and wood being splintered, not just rhythmically tapped on with his knuckles.

So much for his new apartment being a secure one.

The man doesn’t wait for an invitation before entering through the now unhinged and slightly broken door; his posture is calm and composed, the exact opposite of what is going on in Jughead’s mind. He’s panicking, the worst-case scenarios running through his mind at hundreds of miles per hour; the Interpol found him, the FBI has gotten a hit on his location, the police are onto him.

But the man in his living room doesn’t have a badge or a back-up - he’s on his own in a suit so clean that it has to be hiding something. 

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones,” the man says as he takes in Jughead’s scared and messy appearance. “You look nothing like your father.”

_ Ah, of course. How did he not think of that? _

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jughead says with a scoff. “How may I help you?”

The man crosses the room without a word and when he’s almost at Jughead’s reach, he drops his arm underneath his coat and Jughead swears that his heart stops in that moment.  _ That’s it, that’s the end of his life _ \- his parents have send somebody to finish him off because they could not handle the fact that Jughead would rather work his ass off on his own than to join them, than to take over the family business. That there isn’t even an alternate or a parallel universe where he would pick Serpents had he any other choice, where he would sacrifice his freedom and free will.

He closes his eyes and waits for the piercing pain to hit him, for a swishing sound of a bullet leaving a gun and cutting through the air before sinking into his body. He waits and waits, but none of those things happen; he continues standing, enveloped in the same silence as seconds before.

Tentatively, he opens one eye to see the man standing in front of him, a stark white envelope in his hand and an amused smirk on his lip. That forces Jughead to open the second eye as well and take the sight in front of him fully before snapping out of his panicked mode and reaching out to accept the file.

A memory from a few years ago flashes through his mind, of another late night visit and envelope bearing no good news; his fingers tremble as he tears the paper open. Unlike the last one he has received, there are a few more papers in this one, so he just quickly slips them out and lets his eyes scan the pages.

It’s an agreement and he doesn’t need to read it properly to know what it is about - he’d recognise the long sum anywhere. The number is the exact same as the one that was written in a messy handwriting on a scrap of a paper his parents gave him that night; it is the same as the amount he owed them for the deal he had ruined.

Except that is not what this agreement states.

Because, apparently, that debt came with a hefty interest rate.

He flips the paper over and locates the signatures at the bottom of the page; both of his parents and one that he doesn’t recognise. His brow furrows as he tries to decipher the name, but apart from figuring out that the first letter is definitely a  _ L _ , he doesn’t get much further.

“I have paid my share,” Jughead says defensively. “I have paid back every single penny I have cost them that night.”

He outstretches his hand with the documents towards the man, silently begging him to take it away, to leave and take this nightmare with him.

“You have,” the man nods lightly. “But that isn’t the only money my bosses lost. You’ve made them lose millions in profits in years to come, in years you were busy running around Europe and playing a criminal.”

Jughead shakes his head. “No, we had an agreement,” he says determinedly. “I’ve upheld my end, I’ve gotten them their money back. I don’t care what my parents have signed, it’s not my problem anymore.”

“Alright then, if that’s the way you want it to go…” the man says, his voice trailing off at the end. He shrugs lightly before fixing the sleeves off his jacket, erasing the non-existent creases as he slowly turns to head to the door.

Air gets stuck in Jughead’s throat as he watches him leave - his senses are tickling, every alarm in his mind is going off - it can’t be this easy, no, there’s a catch. Something is wrong.

“Wait!” he calls out and the man stops in his tracks. “Aren’t you going to try to persuade me?”

The man’s lips are curled up in an evil smile as he turns around to face Jughead. “I think that should be enough of a persuasion.” He tilts his chin up, pointing to the envelope in Jughead’s hand.

Confused, he pulls out the rest of the documents from there, taking a moment to scan them carefully. 

He has always known how much his parents wanted him to take over the Serpents, but to think that they would resort to blackmailing him like some filthy criminals in order to get him to comply, that was a new low even for them. Of course they were somehow able to get hands on pictures of all four of them in compromising situations, visiting multiple spots that would later become crime scenes, acting all shady and secretive. Nobody had to explain to Jughead what would happen if those pictures were to be delivered to a good agent or a detective - after all, he had spent countless night thinking about the possibility of something like this happening.

He can’t look at them; he simply can’t watch all of the incriminating dirt his parents have somehow managed to dig up. “Alright, you have my attention,” Jughead sighs heavily.

“My boss wants the money,” the man shrugs, “and he couldn’t care less whether it comes from you or your parents, as long as it ends up in his bank account.”

“And let me guess - my parents are offering to pay off my debt and make all this evidence go away as long as I take my  _ rightful place _ in the Serpents?” Jughead asks.

The man just nods, which prompts a scoff from Jughead. Of course. “I want none of their help,” he shakes his head.

He sees the man open his mouth, probably to argue, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He has had just enough of his parents - he doesn’t care for their reasons, for their plans, for their schemes. He doesn’t want to be a part of their life, he doesn’t want to be a part of the Serpents and tricks like these won’t make him change his mind.

“They better send some agreement for me to sign now, because I’m not making the same mistake as the last time. There’ll be a signed agreement by both sides, stating how much exactly I owe, no hidden charges or interests, no conditions written in tiny letters that I won’t even have access to. And I’ll pay that and not a penny more as long as in exchange, they get rid of all copies of these,” he says, waving the incriminating photos in the air.

“I don’t think you’re really in a position to negotiate,” the man frowns.

Jughead licks his lips before answering. The man is partially right - he isn’t. His parents have the upper hand, there’s no arguing about that. But the thing is, they care more about keeping Jughead out of the jail than he does and it is safe to assume that they would not just let him get arrested. And although every part of him is screaming at him to protect his friends, he knows they would support him in that choice, they would believe him when he’d say that there was no way his parents would do anything that would take him off the board. After all, he’s legacy and all that shit.

And even if all else fails, one fundamental fact still remains true - he’d pick prison over the Serpents in a heartbeat. “But I’m going to do it anyways,” he shrugs. “Please, see yourself out,” he adds and points to the open broken door.

The man spares him one last look before heading out without a hint of goodbye.

And, as expected, he’s back the next night, with an agreement ready, signed at the bottom by both of his parents.

Jughead counts it as a win, even though it is far from that.

  
  


** _5_ **

“Jug?” a voice calls out, making Jughead flinch.  _ Shit, the door is still broken, nobody was supposed to see-  _ “Hey, man, are you okay?”

Jughead’s eyes jump between the spot Sweet Pea’s body is about to come into his line of view at any moment and th papers on the table in front of him, his messy attempt at trying to come up with the best strategy for obtaining the money he so desperately needs. There’s all of the research he has done so far into the art galleries and museums of New York, lists of potential artworks and supplies he’s going to need and of course, the deal that his parents’ henchman brought in. He quickly closes his highlighter pen and shuffles the papers, bringing them onto one unorganised heap and shuts his laptop, hoping that Pea won’t look too deeply into what he has just caught Jughead doing. 

And just a few second later, Sweet Pea comes out from behind the corner and a wave of relief washes over Jughead because the eyes of his friend don’t even scan over the contents of Jughead’s table, instead finding his face immediately.

“What happened to your door?” he asks, his eyebrow shooting up.

“Nothing,” Jughead shakes his head. “A drunk neighbour,” he adds as an explanation after a moment, realising that Pea will see through a blatant lie like  _ nothing _ instantly.

Sweet Pea squirms his eyes. “A drunk neighbour?” he repeats, the words rolling off his tongue slowly. The air fills with tension and heaviness and Jughead’s breath catches in his throat.

“Yeah,” he agrees carefully. “He thought this was his apartment and when the key didn’t work, he kicked down the door. He might have been on some drugs as well, who knows,” Jughead shrugs, hoping that the lie would be believable, that it would get his friend to stop poking his nose into stuff Jughead would rather keep him as far away from as possible. Sweet Pea has already sacrificed so much for him and the last thing Jughead wants is to drag his friend into his mess once again. He has done it once and even that was more than enough; this time, he isn’t going to repeat the same mistakes.

“Interesting,” Pea hums. There’s a beat of silence and Jughead’s heart almost stops before his friend opens his mouth once again. “You want help putting it back up?” he offers.

A weight like no other falls off Jughead’s heart and he nods without hesitation - it worked. Not that he didn’t expect it to (_that’s a lie, he definitely didn’t_), but there was a part of him that was ready for an avalanche of follow-up questions, ones that he definitely didn’t have answers to. 

Sweet Pea has never been one to shy away from asking, from pushing somebody for information, especially when he knew he was being lied to - but then on the other hand, over the years they have worked together, conducting not so legal activities, the two of them have build a completely different type of trust, the  _ I will do whatever you ask from me, no questions asked _ type of trust.

Jughead smiles slightly at his friend, thankful for not pressing him for an explanation or the truth. “Yeah, that would actually be really nice,” Jughead says. 

“Well then, go get your tools and we can get to it,” Pea says, waving his hand in the air, motioning Jughead to do as he’s told.

Jughead just nods and quickly heads to his bedroom, where he is remembers last seeing the toolbox he purchased to be able to build his new furniture. It takes him a couple of minutes of tedious searching to find it, not seeing it at any of the places he thought he might have left it at - in the end, it turns out to be underneath his bed. He must have accidentally kicked it over there or something, not that it really matters.

With the toolbox in his hand, he makes his way back to the living room area, but as soon as his eyes find his friend, his mouth falls open and not because he was about to call on Pea to follow him. No, it is because his friend’s brows are knitted tightly together and there is a deep frown on his face as he scans the papers Jughead left on the table.

“Were you going to tell us that you were planning another heist or were we supposed to find out once you ended up behind the bars?” Pea asks, his voice low with anger.

“Sweets, it’s not what-”

“What it looks like?” Pea interrupts him. “Because, let me tell you what it looks like, Jones. It looks like you got a taste for the criminal life. It looks like you were about to do something incredibly stupid and what’s more, on your own, without any back-up or help. It looks like you didn’t even stop to think about the consequences your actions might have!”

“No, it’s nothing like that-” Jughead tries again, but Sweet Pea’s face is burning with anger and he apparently doesn’t care for his explanations, not when he still hasn’t finished talking.

“For fucks sake, why don’t you go ahead and join the Serpents officially next time, since you apparently enjoy breaking the law so fucking much!” 

The toolbox slips from Jughead’s hand and lands on the ground with a loud crash, its contents spilling out on the floor, but not an ounce of Jughead can care as the harsh words that his best friend has just said ring loudly in his ears. He goes to pinch himself, in a vain hope that this all is a dream, but he stops just before his fingers can squeeze the skin of his hand. No, this definitely isn’t a dream; it’s just a nightmare even though he’s definitely wide awake.

“What did you say?” Jughead asks slowly, his voice surprisingly calm considering the emotional turmoil that’s going on inside of him. He is torn between throwing insults back and between trying to keep his head calm and resolving this like two adults, he is torn between screaming and keeping his voice leveled. But he doesn’t get to make a choice of which part of himself he should, as the words start pouring out of him before he has a chance to think even once.

“Do you think that I want to do this? That I’m not tired of calculating my every step, of always having to look over my shoulder and keeping my head down, of the constant fear that one day the person who I owe the money to might decide that they’re tired of waiting and just start murdering all of us? Or, I don’t know, start piling up information and evidence of what we’ve been up to recently?” Jughead asks, his voice gaining on intensity and anger with every word. 

“What do you think happened here exactly, Pea? Do you think I just couldn’t have imagined my life without crime, without something I’ve been running away from ever since I knew what that word meant?” he pauses to catch his breath - he can’t even look at his friend now, so he lets his eyes slide off him, the broken door catching his gaze. “Did you really think a drunk neighbour broke my door?” he adds, exhaling air through his nose in a small snicker.

“Jughead, I-”

But Jughead shakes his head. “Just leave me alone.”

Pea’s mouth stays open for couple more seconds, as if he is considering whether to fight back and say something nonetheless of Jughead’s wish, but at the end, it is probably the finality in Jughead’s voice that persuades him to close it shut and listen to him. From the corner of his eyes, Jughead can see how Pea’s head falls down and his shoulders slutch slightly and for a moment, there is a pang of guilt in his chest - maybe he shouldn’t have been that harsh on his friend.

But that moment passes as quickly as it appeared, overtaken by the certainty in his decisions. He wouldn’t have to say any of it if Pea hadn’t said what he said, if his best friend, somebody who he had known for the better part of his life, hadn’t suggested he joined his parents’ crusade, something he’s been running away from his entire life. 

The words were a gut punch - not because Jughead has never heard them before, no. He has just never expected them to be coated in such a familiar voice, coming from somebody wearing the face of his best friend.

“I’m sorry Jug,” Sweet Pea says as he heads out, his body lingering by the broken door. “Please, just call me when you’re ready.”

Jughead sighs heavily, rubbing his hand across his face. He wants to just wave him off, but apparently today his mouth has a mind of its own. “I will,” he whispers. He’ll cool off eventually - both of them will - and then they’ll simply talk out the stupid things they said. It’s always like that; their friendship thankfully running deeper than any stupid argument can cut.

A soft  _ thank you _ falls from Pea’s lips before he heads out, leaving Jughead alone in his apartment, standing in the middle of the mess that his scattered tools created around him, but, it doesn’t feel nowhere as horrible as his mind, as his thoughts.

Even though he hates to admit it, Sweet Pea has a point. The robbing, the heists, the criminal life - they were supposed to leave all of that behind in Europe. It was simply a means to the end, a way to obtain the money he needed.

But nobody of them could have predicted that he would need more - a lot more. 

And as it was three years ago, when they first came up with this crazy plan, there weren’t that many reliable ways to earn that large amount of cash quickly. Well, scratch that, there weren’t  _ any _ reliable ways.

Except for one.

One that proved to work for them over and over during those years, one without which he would be nowhere near to paying off what he owes. So, blame him for that being the first route he decided to take, blame him for that being the first option he considered.

He sighs heavily and carefully steps over the nails and screws on the floor, heading towards the table where the papers are still thrown around haphazardly, the aftermath of the documents slipping from Pea’s hands as Jughead dropped the toolbox.

Slowly, he picks them up and starts organising into a neat pile, one that he will feed into his shredder later that night; there is no point in doing this now, because even though the caring part of him was set on not dragging his friends back into that life, the rational part of him knows better and simply understands the fact that he can’t do this alone.

After the papers are all cleaned up, he picks up the highlighter that lays next to them and searches the table for its top, when his whole body freezes with a realisation.

His brows furrow as the wheels in his head turn. 

He clearly remembers closing it as Pea arrived, as there weren’t many things he hated more than when highlighters dried out because somebody was so careless and preoccupied that they would forget about something so simple and quick like popping the lid back on.

Acting before he can fully figure out what is going on, his hands are messing up the pile of papers once again, his eyes jumping through the sea of white and black, looking for the tell-tale neon pink of the highlighter.

Eventually, he finds it, on the page with the list of his potential targets, a huge circle around a picture of  _ The Drowning Girl. _

And below that, in a messy handwriting he’d recognise anywhere, is a short note.

_ Don’t you think for a second that we’re letting you do this on your own. _

His eyes fall closed as he takes a shuddering breath, the anger long forgotten.

And as he opens his eyes, there is a phone ready in his hand and Sweet Pea’s number under his thumb. He still isn’t sure whether he’s going to thank him or scream at him, but he knows it’s all going to be alright.

** _+1 _ **

There are two shirts lied out nicely on Jughead’s bed, both grayish with blue undertones and on any other day, he would say that they are the exact same one, not thinking even once before picking one. But not today; today, his eyes seem to pick up on every single difference and for reasons unbeknownst to him, he simply can’t choose one, not even if his life depended on it.

Well, maybe that’s a lie; maybe, the reasons aren’t that unknown to him. In fact, he’s quite sure that he knows exactly what those reasons are.

He still isn’t quite sure where he found the courage and guts to ask Betty Cooper out on a date. The question just somehow slipped off his lips and immediately after it did, his whole body braced itself for a rejection, for a pointed laughter full of pity. Not even in his wildest dreams had he expected the agent to actually say yes, to actually agree to his proposal to take her out.

Every cell of his body still screams at him that he shouldn’t go even though he was the one to suggest the idea, every part of him is full of worry, trembling with fearing, that it is going to be a trap. That she will take this chance to finally catch him and he was about to walk blindly right into it. Yes, of course, he took all necessary repercussions and there were several escape routes within the restaurant that he could use to disappear in case something went wrong, but the thing was, if the agent pulled out a gun and handcuffs on him, he isn’t quite sure how he would react, whether the shock wouldn’t be stronger than the urge to flee.

Because, deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he has all those feelings; feelings that with every conversation and every thought only gain on volume and intensity. The phone calls that slowly became of more and more regular occurrence weren’t helping at slightest and neither were the two times they have already met face-to-face. 

So, he isn’t sure what he would do were she order him to surrender to her, since there is a real possibility that he would end up standing frozen to the spot and all he could do would be whisper that he already has.

There is a quick succession of sharp knocks on his front door, pulling him away from his thoughts. His eyes drop back to the shirts in front of him and without any more overthinking he quickly grabs one of them, pulling it on his arms and battling with the buttons on his way to open the door. 

He catches the sight of himself in his hallway mirror and his brows furrow.  _ He should have gone with the other one, this one looks horrible on him… _

Distracted by his reflection, he opens the door without checking the peephole first, a mistake he should really stop repeating. Because, by the time his eyes slide over to see who is waiting for him on the other side and his brain kicks in an sends a warning message to the rest of his body to  _ shut the fucking door _ right now, it is too late and his parents are already inside of his home.

Jughead’s breath catches and his stomach drops -  _ no, no, no, not today _ .  _ Please, just not right now, not today _ .

But he’s never been one of the lucky kids, he’s never had the universe play in his favour, so a part of him just laughs at his stupidity, at the fact that he let his guard down and now, this was the universe surprising him by the ugliest and nastiest of jokes.

“What can I do for you?” Jughead asks with a sigh, his voice dropping to a sickeningly sweet octave and a similarly fake smile plasters on his face.

“Is that the way to greet your parents, boy?” his father asks and Jughead resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“No, it is not,” Jughead shakes his head. There is a second part of that sentence on the tip of his tongue,  _ but you are the furthest thing from them _ , but he bites it down and swallows, not wanting to escalate this conversation, even though he knows it is probably going to end in an argument, sooner or later. He hasn’t had a conversation with them in years that hasn’t escalated that way.

“Invite us in for a tea, at least?” his mother asks, fake politeness filling her voice and posture, but Jughead sees right through it and if he’s being honest, he can’t be bothered to pretend otherwise, not anymore.

“I was actually just about to head out, can we do this some other time?” he asks.

He can feel both of his parents’ eyes scanning him and for a moment, there’s blood rushing to his cheeks and he feels like he’s back in his teenage years and he is telling his parents about his first girlfriend. Except that they never were close enough for him to actually have an experience like that and he isn’t interested in gaining it after he is long grown out of his teenage years.

“All the more reason to do it now,” his father says and walks past Jughead further into his apartment, ignoring the death glare that his son has sent his way. “It will save all of us a lot of trouble,” he murmurs as he drops down to the couch. “Get me a beer, won’t you?”

Jughead squeezes his eyes shut for a second as he contemplates his options - either continue fighting with them and delaying whatever they came to say, until the point when he is going to be late for his date, or just comply and quickly let them say whatever they felt was so important that they had to come all the way here instead of just leaving a voicemail he’d never actually listen to (or just sending another one of their men to kick his door down) and then quickly throw them out.

And since he’s really eager to get to Betty tonight, he picks the option number two, knocking his front door closed with the tip of his shoe and motioning his mother to follow his father into the living room while he gets a beer from one of his kitchen cabinets (he’s definitely not giving him one of the chilled ones from the fridge;  _ yes, he’s going to be that petty _ ).

“So, what brings you around tonight?” Jughead asks casually as he hands his father the beer. His eyes keep jumping between their faces, looking for any hint of their thought processes, anything that could point him a direction of the reasoning behind their visit. 

But he finds none and with every passing second he’s left in the dark, he feels the tension raising both in him and in the room. He tries to take deep breaths to stop his mind from slowly starting to spin, but the air only seems to fuel the motions, fuel his fears and anxieties.

His father sips from the beer nonchalantly, but Jughead doesn’t miss the way his eyes meet his wife’s, the unspoken  _ go ahead _ lingering between them. And so, Gladys speaks up. “Jughead, you know we love you,” she starts slowly, but that’s enough to make Jughead scoff.

“Do I?” he asks, interrupting whatever point his mother was trying to make.

“Of course we love you, son,” she repeats quickly, her voice calm and reassuring. “We’ve always wanted the best for you. After all, you’re a Jones and you deserve nothing less.”

He knows it’s his mother speaking, but still, he hears the shadow of his father’s voice creeping up.  _ Joneses belong on the top, to rule with crowns on their heads. _ He winces and tries to push those thoughts away, but they don’t want to go, lingering in the back of his mind as he tries to focus on his mother’s words.

“And because of that, we can’t let you continue doing what you are,” his mother says.

“And what exactly am I doing?” Jughead asks with a raised eyebrow. “Paying off my debt to you? Being independent? Having my own life, without your  _ legacy _ tainting my every action?”

His mother doesn’t answer his questions, but instead just pulls out an envelope from her pocket. Jughead’s stomach recoils at the sight - he has been in a situation like this one a couple of times already and it never led to anything good. Not once did the stark white paper hide good or positive news, not once did the situations like this left anything but a sour taste in his mouth.

He knows that it’s going to be no different this time - and yet, he still reaches for the envelope. 

It feels heavy in his hands and a similar feeling settles on his heart as he tears it open.

Jughead carefully pulls the contents out and quickly starts making his way through the papers; they are photos, dozens of them. Some of him out and about in New York, some of his friends visiting the locations that later became crime scenes, some of Fangs in a car, probably taken on one of the days he followed Betty around, some of him on his balcony, with a stupidly wide smile plastered on his face. He travels back in his memory, trying to recall the exact date when that picture must have been taken - but it is only once he notices the phone that’s pressed against his ear that he remembers. He was talking with Betty.

He stops browsing the photos and lifts his eyes to meet his parents’ gazes. “Are you trying to blackmail me into joining the Serpents again? Because that strategy worked wonders for you the first couple of times.”

“We’re not blackmailing you,” his father says. “But I suggest you’d hold off your decision until you’ve seen all of them.”

Jughead’s eyebrows furrow at his father’s words, but he does as he’s told, his eyes dropping back to the photos. He passes a couple more of them, before his breath catches in his throat.

Because, amongst the photos of him and his friends doing all kinds of incriminating things, ones he had already seen dozens upon dozens times and ones he doesn’t care about at all anymore, there is one where he isn’t with any of the three of them. No, instead, it’s him surrounded by Pollock’s masterpieces and his hand is lingering on the back of a stunning blonde, leaning so close to her that any space between the two of them is almost erased.

_ No. _

He runs his fingers against the photo, only then noticing that they are trembling; he quickly pushes the photo away, moves onto another one and just prays that his parents haven’t noticed his reaction.

But the shock gets only harder to hide when beneath this picture is another one from the gallery, where Betty’s head is thrown back in laughter. For a moment, Jughead gets caught up in the memory; remembering how happy and in peace she was, how beautiful she looked that day. How he drank in the sight of her any chance he got, how he couldn’t get enough of her voice and touches; how he couldn’t get enough of her.

And to see that memory tainted like this -

He quickly moves onto another picture. 

Unlike the first two, the agent’s face is clearly visible in this one and it is then that Jughead is hit with the horrific realisation.

It doesn’t matter that he and Toni made sure to erase all of the security footage from the museum where he could be seen with Betty, mostly to protect him, but also for her; it doesn’t matter how much trouble he went through to set up their date in ways that would ensure there would be no trace of him left, no evidence of his presence anybody could abuse or connect to her. 

Because, no matter how much he tried to protect her, to keep her away from this part of his life, he still screwed up. He still somehow dragged her into this darkness and now, she would have to pay the price for it.

He squeezes his eyes shut and collects the photos into a neat pile, placing them on the coffee table in front of him. There’s no point in hiding his emotions, as both of his parents surely already read them all from his face; there is no point in pretending or faking. 

“What do you want?” Jughead asks, resignation in his voice.

“We want you to join the Serpents, so one day, your father will be able to pass on the family business to you,” his mother says and Jughead simply regrets asking. Why did he even do that, when he already knew the answer?

He opens his mouth to politely decline their offer, but as his eyes linger on the stack of the picture on the table, he freezes.

Because, this isn’t just about him and his friends anymore, about the four of them who willingly decided they wanted to go down this path, that they wanted to risk it all. Because, they knew what they were getting into; they understood the stakes, they knew what the price was.

And even though Jughead supposes Betty knows what the price of getting close to him was as well, he can’t help himself but feel the need to protect her, to save her. She isn’t like them - she isn’t a criminal, she isn’t a basket case that screwed up and now has to pay for it. She’s a good and honourable person, one that looked at him and saw more than that, that saw what he hid underneath the mask.  _ That really saw him. _

It doesn’t matter now how much he craves to feel more of that, to hear her soft voice whisper sweet nothings into his ear, to feel her fingers lingering softly against his skin. To feel that understanding again, that hesitant acceptance. That wild flame that lit up in his chest every time he thought of her, that grew from a tiny flicker into an all-consuming bonfire.

He can’t, he simply can’t do that to her. He can’t do anything that would compromise her position, that could cost her her job, her credibility, her life. What would her colleagues and bosses, what would random people from the Bureau, what would her friends think, if they found out that instead of working on catching him, she was calling him up late at night and visiting art museums with him? What would happen to her if everybody found out that she agreed to go on a date with him for real, not just for a show like all those weeks ago when he robbed that bank?

He can’t, he simply can’t destroy her life like that.

His entire life, Jughead was used to being a screw up, for things not working in his favour. For always pulling the short stick, for hitting every obstacle he could. He has grown used to his life being a complete mess and a shit show a rather long time ago, but still, it is nothing he would wish on anybody, not even on his worst enemy.

And especially not on the agent, on his sweet and lovely agent.

“If you want me to agree to this,” Jughead starts slowly, the words so bitter on his tongue that they almost make him throw up, “I have to know for sure that those picture will never see the light of the day and that you’ll leave her alone.”

“You have our word,” his mother says. She reaches out towards him to take his hand into hers, but Jughead flinches away.

“I don’t want your fucking word,” he pushes through his teeth, not even noticing the anger that is pulsating in his voice. “I don’t trust your empty promises. Either you give me something else or you can shove all of this somewhere.”

He knows he is in no place to negotiate, that his parents have managed to push him into a corner and there’s no way out. But a part of him doesn’t want to lose hope, desperately holding onto the idea that maybe what his mother has said at the beginning wasn’t a complete lie; that maybe they truly love him and therefore will do this small thing for him.

His father sighs and puts the beer can down. “You should watch your tone, boy. After all, you don’t want those pictures to end up on the FBI’s doorstep or in tomorrow’s news, do you now?”

Jughead feels like he’s going to faint, his father’s words hurting more than any punch or hit could. 

He can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t do anything but shake his head lightly.

“I knew we could reach an agreement,” his father adds as he gets up. He walks over to Jughead and pats him on his shoulder a couple of times, but he doesn’t even feel present enough to wince at the action or to jerk away. He just sits still and takes it, because what other option is he left with?

“C’mon, the car is waiting for us outside,” his mother says. “We can’t wait to have you back home.”

Jughead feels as if his brain stopped working and his body switched off to an auto-mode; his mind keeps screaming at him to do something, to fight back, to find a way to escape the family legacy once again, but his body does none of that. Instead, he slowly gets up and with empty look in his eyes, follows his mother out of his apartment, not even bothering to take a coat or a jacket.

He doesn’t care if he’s going to be cold, if he’s going to freeze to death, because, honestly, that would still be the preferred option to the one he’s picking.

It is only once he’s in the backseat of the unmarked black car that he realises he left both of his phones in his apartment and that he can’t really let his friends know what has happened. 

He can’t even let Betty know that he won’t be able to make it.

His heart breaks a little more at that thought and he drops his face into his hands, trying to push away the sadness and horror that started to creep up on him.

_ Maybe, it is better this way _ , his brain slowly supplies.  _ Maybe, it is better to let her hate you, if that’s what it takes to keep her away and safe _ .

And even though he knows his heart will break a lot more if he accepts that, he also knows that there isn’t any other way, not really.

So he lets the pain spread through his body as the car speeds through the night, further and further away from his life, from his dreams.

From his freedom.

He always suspected that at end, that the agent would be the one to take it away - he just never suspected it would play out like this.

But then, when has the universe ever been kind to him?

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this little insight into jughead's life and circumstances that led him to where he is now and i can't wait to hear your thoughts and opinions in the comments about your favourite parts, random details you've picked up on, whether you forgive jug for not showing up for the date and just your feelings overall. (or alternatively, find me on tumblr [catthecoder](www.catthecoder.tumblr.com))
> 
> next instalment: _coming hopefully soon (ideally sometime in november), but no title-teaser again since i hadn't started writing it yet (but it is all planned out)_
> 
> p.s. if it wasn't clear, the first five parts took place during years before the first instalment and the last one during the last part of the second instalment.
> 
> p.s. number two: you are all amazing and i love you so much 💕 thank you for supporting and loving this story, it means the entire world to me. 💕


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